Socialized Medicine

Today I went to a downtown rally in support of changes in the health care system. Just a few minutes before leaving for the rally, I learned that a friend, a new friend, was seriously injured in a bicycle accident a few days ago. She’s in a coma and currently her prognosis doesn’t look good at all. The way it should work is, if you have an accident or a health issue like this, you should simply be taken care of. That’s all. There should be no other consideration. It shouldn’t bankrupt you or put you out on the street or anything. If that’s socialized medicine, then I favor socialized medicine—enthusiastically.

While Judy and I were at the rally, there were cars passing by, and the drivers were generally either supportive or apathetic. There were a few who opposed us, though, and those who did had looks of intense hatred on their faces. I could say—conventionally—that I was shocked by the vehemence of that hatred, but it wouldn’t be true. I grew up in this country—grew up among those very people. I know who they are and where they’re coming from. Any one of them could end up in the same situation as my friend and quite possibly either be ignored by or have their lives ruined by the current medical system. I doubt that it occurs to them, though. They are not introspective. They don’t believe in thinking about their lives.

Shop Talk

A friend of mine, who is not particularly into bicycles, has been wanting to buy a bike in order to “get around”—of all things. I’ve been keeping my eye out for a good used one for him, but he finally found the bike himself. When I asked him what kind it was, he told me, “A green one.” Yes!

Ego, I think; not testosterone

Yesterday I went for a bike ride up Mount Tamalpais. It was hot, 87 degrees. About 3/4 of the way up, I was suffering, so I stopped to take a break at a place where many riders stop to rest—Pan Toll Station. There are toilets, water, and shade. While I was recovering, a group of five mountain bikers came in and sat down next to me. I used to go for mountain bike rides, but I won’t do it anymore. I don’t think bikes belong out in the wilderness—not even on fire roads. It should be a place where you can get away from machines. I knew the fire roads they were discussing. They’d ridden a long way on some difficult routes, so I knew they were accomplished riders. As I was sitting there listening to them talk—I had no choice, they were annoyingly loud—they started remembering how they’d “scared the shit” out of some hikers by riding too close to them as they passed from behind. They all thought that was pretty funny. They talked like teenage boys. The strange thing is that they were all at least in their fifties—possibly their late fifties. They had expensive superbikes and elaborate gear, so they probably had good jobs, responsible positions, and all that. But they had never grown up.

No Hurry, No Goal

I used to be a bicycling fanatic, but that passed years ago, and I’ve never quite gotten the spirit back. Yesterday, I decided to ride up Mt. Tamalpais. I’ve already been up the mountain once this year, but yesterday I was feeling sluggish right from the start. Just one of those days. I wasn’t enjoying the ride, and I decided that the only way I could make it bearable was to adopt the mantra of “There is no hurry and there is no goal.” I rode at a relaxed, slow pace and even stopped to look at the sights (something I don’t often do when I’m “working out”).  My rule was if at any point I felt like turning back, even if I was only 100 yards from the summit, then, by golly, that’s what I’d do. Whenever I found myself wondering if I could make it to the top, I’d remind myself of my mantra and return to riding easy. And it worked; I was enjoying the ride.

At a rest stop, I saw a mileage sign and realized that I was closer to the summit than I thought. It was starting to get a little late, so when I got back on the bike I decided to go for it. I put my head down and increased my speed. But a half mile later I felt like complete crap. I remembered my rule then, turned around, and coasted back to the bottom. No regrets, Coyote!

Affliction #1

A few days ago, I was bicycling along the waterfront—Marina Green, for those who know San Francisco—when I suddenly remembered something that happened to me the day after the 1989 earthquake—the “Kind of Big One,” as some people here call it. I was riding my bike through the hardest hit section of the city, the Marina, checking out the damage, when I saw ahead of me a stooped, white-haired man. He was around 100 yards away, and from that distance I couldn’t make out his face, but somehow I knew instantly that it was Joe Dimaggio. When I got close, I saw that it was indeed him. I’m not even a sports fan. That reminded me of a day ten years earlier when shortly after entering the Stockton tunnel I saw, from the same distance or greater, a large group of walkers coming toward me. The tunnel was loud with passing cars, so I couldn’t hear them talking, but the moment I saw them I had the instantaneous thought, “Germans.”  And it turned out that it was, indeed, a group of Germans.

We live in a time where many people insist that the only mind that’s real and trustworthy is the rational intellect. But that’s wrong. I find the intuitive mind more fundamental and of greater value than the dry, crusty intellect. More entertaining, too. We need the rational mind to make sure that we don’t go overboard, but our denial and suppression of intuition is killing the spirit. It’s one of the three great afflictions of Western Civilization.

A Political Disagreement

Today Judy and I went for a bike ride, and along the way we made a pit stop. Judy went inside a store, while I remained outside to watch over the bikes. I was sitting on a bench next to a young black man who had just finished work and was waiting for a ride home. We got into a conversation—first about the weather, then about the economy. We agreed that both situation look grave—drought and depression. I said that at least the economy was in the hands of a good man. He expressed the hope that people would give Obama enough time to turn things around. I voiced my honest opinion that Obama is the smartest president of recent times. And there, we had our disagreement. He thought John Kennedy was the smartest. I simply couldn’t buy that. Yet we both maintained our civility, and we parted on amicable terms.